The Things I Never Said
by Muffinsweep11
Summary: When you're reflecting aloud on your endless list of regrets and dead wishes, you're never truly alone. One-shot in (late) honour of Wicked's twelfth anniversary.


She asks the carriage to stop about a hundred meters from the foot of the stairs, at the bend of the road where they will not see her once she goes beyond and around the hill.

Her convoy do not know much about her self-initiated pilgrimage. She's content to keep it that way; she doesn't need them realizing that the Good Lady Glinda is on her way to visit the tomb of the Wicked Witch.

Glinda walks around the bend until she staring at the long flight of stairs that run up the side of the mountain. She's made this journey once before, although then her heart was in such a frenzy. It's been a long time since she's seen that grey, stone castle sitting atop its mountain throne. The last time, the castle had orangey firelight flickering from the windows. The last time, _she_ was still alive.

Glinda remembers being so young back then. Being so naive, so weak. Glinda often wonders if perhaps her present self had been there her resolve might not have crumbled so easily. Her younger self hadn't been strong enough to talk _her_ out of suicide. She hadn't realized how her easy submission would impact her future. She'd realized too slowly, too late that she would regret letting go of that green hand.

She ascends the stone steps, attempting distract the pain and bitterness by counting the number of steps. All in futility, do her attempts end, for her heart just grows heavier and heavier as the number gets larger and larger; as she is brought closer and closer to the castle doors.

When she reaches them her heart feels like lead, sinking to the bottom of her stomach. She takes a deep breath and wills her hands to move and push aside the ancient wooden doors. A dark hallway greets her. Another deep breath and she forces her feet to step into the castle. On her first visit she'd hardly had any time to register the castle's architecture in her flustered state, but now with all the time in the world, she takes a moment to take in the towering grey pillars and the smooth stone floor of the entrance room. She only stares at it for a second, however, when she finds herself suffering from an image of the hall when there had been life; of fires burning in the wall cones; of boot-clad feet running down the hall; of the hems of the dark torn dress brushing lightly against the ground.

So instead she hurries on, up the grand staircase, into the room she's been dreading her whole journey here: the Witch's Tomb.

Surprisingly, it doesn't turn out to have that haunting feeling of an abandoned house, or that depressive mood of cemeteries. It just has ...emptiness. Or maybe it's just Glinda's inner emotions resonating into the atmosphere around her. Nothing has changed since she was last there; nothing significant at least. Dim streaks of sunlight stream in from parts of the large window that haven't been completely covered with dust yet, casting golden spots on the dark stone floor. She walks to the middle of the room where she is partially bathed in the light, as if it can chase away the darkness of misery reaching out for her heart.

"Well, hey Elphie. I'm here now," she whispers, twisting her fingers nervously. It's stupid, she tells herself, talking to an empty room, but for some reason, it just felt...right. "A day late, but you know me...haha...always a bit tardy..." she looked up. "Always too late..." she adds softly. She feels a teardrop, and she quickly wipes it away. _It's only the beginning, Glinda, she tells herself, too early for the floodgates._ She attempts to smile. "Not like you though, you were always on time. You were amazing, Elphie, I wish I was in every way like you, well, except for the skin and the dress sense...anyways, I wrote you a song, Elphie."

Though she knows she won't get a response, she still pauses. A small part of her still hopes that her beloved green friend would come sauntering out into the room, laughing at her ridiculous idea of songwriting.

She is met with an empty hall of dust and darkness.

Dropping her head to search for her song, she still can't help but feel a tinge of disappointment. _She's dead, Glinda, dead; the dead don't respond_. Swallowing hard, she pulls out the piece of paper unfolds it, and begins her song tribute to her long lost friend.

 _"It isn't easy to express what I feel inside,"_ she starts, _"but that shouldn't come as a surprise to you._

 _Haven't been the perfect friend, but please know that I tried,_ _i did the best I could, and that's the best that I could do._

 _"Now facing a future that's uncertain, i cannot say what lies ahead._

 _But I won't give up, i'll face my fears, and fight back years of uncried tears,_ _and tell you all the things I never said."_

Her voice cracks. She breathes deep and pushes on. For Elphie.

 _"All of the hours spent at work,_ _consumed with my career,_ _i wouldn't blame you if you thought I didn't care._

 _Campaigns that i missed, all the rallies I didn't cheer,_ _I never told you then, but how I wanted to be there."_

Her hands are trembling now. There's a lump in her throat growing bigger and bigger by the second.

 _"As thoughts of the past run through my memory, the choices I've made, the life I've led,_

 _An office in the Emerald Palace, it meant so much but you mean more, that's one of many things..."_ She breaks off, her sobs consuming her speech.

 _"So much in my life I took for granted, like you helping me with my homework when we were supposed to be in bed,_ " she chokes out. The words are becoming difficult to say, let alone sing. _"My world was always spinning fast, and in an instant, years have passed, and here i sit with so much left unsaid..."_

The next words die in her throat. She can't continue. The lump has grown too big; it has reached the point whereupon simply thinking about her lost friendship is too unbearable. So she simply holds the letter to her chest, above her heart, rocking back and forth as she fills the silent halls with her long overdue sobs of despair.

* * *

Glinda departs once she's dried her tears and re-plastered that mask of nonchalance on her face. She walks out the doors with the air of a leader, but with the heart of a grieving friend. Such is the life of celebrities.

As soon as her footfalls grow distant, another set fill the silence of the halls. They tread over to where Glinda had cried out her heart, where she'd left the crumpled letter burdened with tear marks. A set a long green fingers lift the paper from the ground, and as they trail the words where the once elegant handwriting has become a little better than trembling scratch marks, a beautiful, haunting voice of mourning spills into the air of the castle,

 _"I've always lived a world apart, but through it all, you were my heart,_

 _"That's one of many things...oh, so many things...I never said."_

* * *

 **A/N: Hey I know I've been a ghost on fanfiction recently (blame Doctor Who - I literally spent three months watching ten years worth of episodes, then spent the rest of the time fangirling about it) but I'm back (though a little late) for Wicked's anniversary!** **This fic was inspired by and based off the song _The Things I Never Said_ from _First Date the Musical_ , do check it out if you haven't!**


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